


Dance For You

by starswholisten



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/M, Rita's, Secret Relationship, Smut, mid-ACOMAF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-23
Updated: 2017-01-23
Packaged: 2018-09-19 10:05:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9435368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starswholisten/pseuds/starswholisten
Summary: Cassian's nostrils flared. "Where'd you go the other night?" he asked Mor without so much as a nod of greeting."I just... went out," she said, plopping down."With whom?" Cassian pushed.WherewasMor that night?In which Mor and Azriel are in a secret relationship. Set during ACOMAF, Azriel's POV.





	

**Author's Note:**

> okay this was supposed to be for moriel smut week and I suck so I'm late.  
> secret rendezvous/dance club shenanigans prompts

“Her,” Azriel said, nodding his head to a tall, red-haired Fae woman standing at the end of the bar, nursing a half-empty glass of amber liquid. “Two minutes. And he’ll say no."

Feyre scoffed in response, taking a deep drink from her wine as she pinned her eyes on the female, assessing his observation. “She’s pretty,” she mused, swirling her glass and glancing once again to Rhysand. He stood confidently in all his High Lord glory, holding court at the bar of Rita’s as he had been for the last hour. “I think he would say yes, if she asked him."

Chuckling, Azriel lifted his glass to clink against hers to solidify the bet. He had to admit, he was enjoying himself tonight, sitting in their usual booth with Feyre and taking turns betting on who would work up the nerve to invite Rhys home. And it certainly helped Azriel’s mood that he was winning.

He did, he supposed, have the advantage of not being oblivious to Rhysand’s obvious devotion to Feyre.

Like clockwork, the fiery haired woman set her now empty glass on the bar and sauntered forward, resting a hand on Rhys's shoulder. He glanced back and nodded to the male he was conversing with before turning to chat with the woman. Azriel glanced at Feyre beneath a tendril of shadow to find her watching, eyes calculating, and definitely not fooling Azriel with the desire that swam underneath that gaze.

Not a minute later, the woman touched Rhys’s hand, and Azriel and Feyre watched as he shook his head, not impolitely, and excused himself to order another drink. Dejected, the Fae flipped her hair to the side and glanced about the room, moving on to a new conquest.

Azriel huffed a short laugh as he took a drink from his glass. “Told you."

Sighing, Feyre flopped forward and rested her chin in a hand. Azriel thought the sigh was one of relief rather than defeat.

He smiled, amused at the turn the night had taken. Earlier, Azriel had not wanted to go out, content to simply brood and nurse a glass of hard liquor at the House of Wind before he left for the human realms in the morning. But he’d gone, as he always did when a certain blonde Fae asked him to...

Slinking back against the seat of the booth, wings tucked tightly behind him, Azriel turned his attention to the dance floor and found her immediately. A ray of light in a dark room, the only spark still lit in the dying embers of a fire. She stood out so boldly, so brightly, even in the thick crowd of sweaty, dancing bodies. But then again, Morrigan always stood out to him.

She was like the sun. He couldn’t look away, even if he tried. Even if he wanted to try.

He felt Feyre’s eyes stray briefly from Rhys to notice the change in his gaze, and Azriel didn’t even have it in him to shoot her a warning glance, or to acknowledge the grin that was surely forming on her face. Not with Mor before him, spinning and smiling and rendering him utterly and completely helpless in her light.

Azriel knew how to hide better than most - he was a spymaster, after all. He could shield himself from discovery on even the most volatile of missions. He protected, with a sadistic patience, all of the deepest secrets he’d learned using those tainted, scarred, bloody hands in the course of his work. And he had long ago mastered a mask to suppress his emotions - fear and sadness and otherwise - into neutrality. But he could not, however much he may try, hide the longing and hunger that came over him when he saw Mor burning brightly like a fire that threatened to consume him.

And it would not be the first time that he let it consume him. For sure, Azriel thought, his patience was endless. Boundless. But when it came to Mor, it had eventually run out.

But he wasn’t going to tell Feyre that, no matter how long she smirked in his direction. Not even Rhys or Amren or Cassian - _especially_ not Cassian - knew that he and Mor were… familiar. With each other.

For someone so strong in his own self discipline, all of it disintegrated at the smallest touch from her.

It had started that simply. Small touches, caresses meant for comfort and casual, natural grazing of hands. He held her when she woke from her nightmares, and she cared for his wounds, physical and otherwise, after a long mission away from the Night Court. What friends do, Mor had always insisted.

Friends.

_Friends._

And Azriel had never pushed, never pried, always only prayed and pleaded with the Mother to give him the resilience, the will to keep those scarred, unworthy hands to himself at the end of the day.

But then it became more, with forehead touches sharing breath and embraces that lasted much longer than was needed - but they _were_ needed - and an unbearable tension of desire that felt like an impenetrable force between them. And she had spoken in whispers against his ear and in secrets that cut the silence of the night, had spoken words that made him feel like he was worth something. For the first time in his life, he was _worth something_ , this perfect creature from the gods themselves felt it was worth her time and her energy to stand night after night on the balcony of the House of Wind, to pace for only the Mother knew how many hours and wait for him to come home, to ensure he defeated his demons before they ensnared him into a restless, sleepless night.

The impenetrable force had melted before them when Azriel finally accepted her offer to go to Rita’s, to dance with her, a hundred years before. A gesture he knew would mean more than _yes_ , so much more. A thank you, a crack in his walls, for her and only her.

That night he realized that the proximity of Mor's body to his was different when they danced. It felt innately more intimate than holding her as she cried or allowing her to gather him in her arms and stroke his hair as they drifted off to sleep. It was a closeness that they not only needed, but _wanted_ , one they chose. She had _chosen_ to dance with him, to press her body to his and rest her flushed cheek on his chest, his heart pounding beneath the light pressure of her smile against him.

Something in him had broken that night, something had tumbled down around them, revealing whatever it was between them and begging them to accept it. And watching her dance for him, feeling her against him, it was more than he could handle.

They’d ended up in his rooms, their desire and the alcohol fogging their judgment, and they had tumbled into his bed with their lips glued together, shedding the layers between them and forging a new kind of force between them, a new kind of bond.

And the rest of the Inner Circle was none the wiser.

There was no chance of this being a one time affair. That much they both knew, considering the frantic, almost constant lovemaking that had occurred in that night alone. But they would keep it secret. Discrete. It was what they had agreed on that night and it was where they still stood, so many years later. Not for shame - she’d managed to convince him that it wasn’t about that - but for their friendship. For the Court. For the thrill, even. They’d take it slowly, until they were ready. The excuses were boundless where the two of them were concerned.

In a way, Azriel didn’t think either of them had gotten what they wanted out of that initial deal. But he would endure it, just to feel her lips against his and hear her moan his name in the darkest hours of the night again and again and again. He would not risk everything to lose what he could have of her. Even as he so desperately, desperately wanted her to know how he felt, just how much he really needed her, how much he truly loved her. But he was too scared, too terrified to break that fragile thing that had taken so many hundreds of years to build.

She turned then, as if sensing the thoughts in his mind, and caught his eye, her facial features immediately softening into a sultry grin. That smile sent a shock of feeling through him and Mor knew, she _knew_ , and she bit her lip to stifle a laugh. She continued to dance as their eyes stayed locked, swaying her hips side to side, hair cascading down her shoulder. Azriel cursed internally at how beautiful she looked just then, her arms raising above her head to reveal the way her sapphire dress, cut out at the waist and plunging deeply in the back, hugged every curve. She knew what that dress - what that _color_ \- would do to him.

“I know blondes are more your thing, Az, but I think Rhys is eyeing that one."

Azriel tore his gaze away from the dance floor reluctantly and schooled his features, scowling at Feyre as she grinned wider. She pointed at the bar, where Rhys was, indeed, watching a Fae with short blond hair as she sat alone at the bar.

Likely because she was one of Cassian’s former lovers, and a particularly memorable one at that… and the smile Rhys wore was one of pure mirth instead of the admiration Feyre mistakenly saw. He chuckled. “No chance."

“Why not-"

A gasp interrupted her. “Az is smiling? What are we talking about?"

Her voice, the way it curled so effortlessly around his name, that nickname she had given to him all those years ago in the Illyrian camps, set his heart racing as Azriel turned to find Mor approaching their table. She bit her lip, a small breathless sigh escaping her throat, and dropped her palms flat on the table, looking from Feyre to Azriel and back to Feyre. “Seriously. I want in on the joke, if it has Az laughing."

They locked eyes for a moment - so quickly that no one would have noticed anything out of the ordinary - but Azriel knew she saw the desire in his eyes at the same moment he saw the same in hers.

Pursing her lips, Feyre rose her wine glass to her mouth. “Just betting on who Rhysand will take home tonight,” she said, swirling the liquid. “Azriel’s winning, though."

Mor huffed, blowing a lock of blonde hair out of her face and making Azriel’s shadows disappear into thin air. She gave him a quick, knowing smile before responding to Feyre. “Of course Az is winning. Az knows everything,” she declared. "I need wine."

Mor leaned forward and picked up Feyre’s nearly full glass. She tipped it back, swallowing its contents not ungracefully, and laughed at Feyre’s exasperated reaction. Setting the now empty glass down, she raised a manicured finger as she called across the bar, “More wine at this table, please!” Feyre laughed, and Azriel hid a grin behind his own glass.

“You can't hide your smile from me, Azriel,” Mor mused, lifting her hands off the table as she leaned back. Azriel watched the incredible force of nature before him in awe as she offered both of them a wink and twirled back to the dance floor.

Feyre sighed. “How does she have so much energy?"

Azriel only shook his head and shrugged, though a sudden burst of energy of his own was flaring inside him.

A few minutes later, Rhys found his way over to their table, notably alone, and after a few choice flirty interactions, he and Feyre left. Azriel murmured an excuse about going out later with Mor and Cassian as they departed.

It didn’t take long for him to find her again, his shadows parting in just the right way to allow her to shine through.

She was dancing with a male now.

This was nothing unusual. Mor attracted males and females alike to her presence and frequently danced with anyone and everyone who asked. But Azriel concentrated on the very, very small space between her and this High Fae male, and the hand he had on her lower back, and the way her hair draped over her face as she looked down, watching their hips move together -

Azriel burned. He wasn’t angry or jealous, but when she did this, it just made him want to do unspeakable things to her, to make her cry out and beg and forget every name except for his -

And then she met his gaze from beneath her hair. Those sparkling, mischievous brown eyes flicked to his for only a moment, knowing he would be watching, and he knew it was all a part of her game.

He bared his teeth and he could practically feel her giggle as she turned her attention away from him and back to the male she was dancing with. Moments later, he lost sight of them, Mor’s blonde head disappearing into the crowd of dancers.

Mor knew exactly how to get under his skin, and this was exactly the kind of stunt she pulled when he arrived to Rita’s only to sit and watch her the whole night. They’d never actually decided they were exclusive, but this kind of game rarely ended in Mor going home with anyone else. Az himself rarely even looked at other women - he just disappeared enough to make Mor think that he had other lovers. But that too was part of their game.

Heart racing, Azriel braced his palms on the table, his Siphons glowing faintly with the pent up energy that rushed through him at the anticipation of what was to come. And so he felt rather than saw Cassian throw himself into the booth beside him, sighing deeply.

Cassian grunted, slipping into a casual posture and throwing a boot onto the chair across from him. “Let’s get out of here."

Azriel shook his head gently, straining his eyes to search for Mor. “No luck tonight, brother?"

"It’s not fun when it’s easy,” he grumbled, running a hand through his hair. “I need a challenge."

 _In the form of a human with Feyre’s eyes and enough steel to craft a deadly Illyrian blade._ “They’re attracted to your modesty, certainly,” he replied, and Cassian punched him in the arm in response. Azriel hardly noticed, still watching the crowd of dancers, still unable to find her.

“It’s called confidence, you should try it sometime,” Cassian mumbled as he followed Azriel's gaze and caught onto his train of thought. “Where’s Mor?"

Azriel shrugged and shot back the remainder of his drink. “Must’ve left,” he said absently, setting the glass on the table. He knew she hadn’t though. But he was too curious about what game Mor was playing to entertain Cassian for much longer.

“Hmph.” Cassian pushed away from the table and stood, looking at Azriel expectantly. “You coming?"

“You go ahead,” Azriel replied. His brother patted him on shoulder before departing, leaving Azriel alone.

He sat there for a few minutes before he finally spotted her again, still with the same male, sweat-slicked golden hair sticking to her face as she spun herself into his embrace. Her back pressed up against him and his hands wandered, setting Azriel’s blood aflame. Mor leaned back to whisper something in his ear, and a grin spread over his face as he backed away from her and grabbed her hand, leading her out of the crowd.

Mor followed, light on her feet, her blonde hair swishing behind her. And just as he was beginning to think she wouldn’t, Mor turned to Azriel. Her eyes blazed with a question that only he would be able to understand.

_Are you going to do something about it?_

Oh, he was going to do more than _something_.

Azriel pushed his chair back and stood slowly, crossing his arms over his chest as she continued to watch him over her shoulder. She offered him a small, satisfied smile before turning and following after the other male, bobbing her blonde head to the beat of the music.

And, damn it all, he was already straining against his pants at the sight of her.

The dance floor swelled and opened to accept the shadowsinger as he made his way through it. Those who were apprehensive of the shadows and power leaking off of him backed away to allow him to pass, leaving him a clear path to the light he followed.

Mor tugged the male gently to a stop just before the hall leading to the restroom and leaned up to whisper something into his ear again. He nodded, reluctantly releasing her hand, and leaned against the wall as she departed down the hallway.

Azriel couldn’t help but think, as he passed the male without so much as a second glance from him, that he likely felt no threat watching the Illyrian bastard going the same direction as the woman he thought he’d be leaving with. Sudden self doubt had him pausing halfway down the hallway, just out of the male’s sight.

His insecurities swirled around him in the form of his shadows, whispering to him, telling him all of the things he knew to be true. _Murderer. Unworthy. You don’t deserve her._ When he finally told Mor about the shadows and what they said to him, she firmly told him they were wrong, that she didn’t believe them, to ignore them. But they’d been weighing on his shoulders for far longer than Mor’s acceptance and support, so it was inevitable that he started rethinking Mor’s glances.

Did she really want him to follow? Was he imagining things? Was-

The side door to the alley opened abruptly, and a manicured hand reached out to grab at the edge of his shirt sleeve and pull him out into the cold.

Stumbling, Azriel found himself pushed against the brick wall of the building, her hands pressing into his chest. He was reminded just how strong she really was, and his cock twitched in his pants.

“Azriel,” Mor said breathlessly, brushing one of those hands up to caress his neck. The desire in her eyes was enough for his doubts to disintegrate. It was incredible how Mor, and _only_ Mor, could make the shadows vanish and ground him to reality.

“Morrigan,” he tried to say as casually as he could. “Fancy meeting you here."

She dug her nails lightly into the back of his neck. “Cut the crap, Az,” she snarled. “You’ve been teasing me all night."

Azriel chuckled, a deep, throaty sound that made Mor blink her heavy-lidded eyes momentarily. “ _I’ve_ been teasing _you_?"

She murmured a breathless affirmation, though it was barely audible, and threaded her fingers through his hair, pressing her body closer to him. There was only an inch or so of space between them now, and Az wanted her closer. But he was still holding fast to his patience, unlike the blonde Fae before him.

He slipped his hands around her waist, holding her in place and watching as her back arched into the touch. When she closed her eyes again and he felt her completely melt her weight into his arms, he spun her around and pushed her against the wall where he had been.

Mor let out a small squeal of surprise and tightened one hand in his hair, the other fisting in his shirt to keep her balance. He finally closed that gap between them, pressing into her so she could feel the full, hard length of him, and he relished in her smile when she felt him.

“You’re the tease, Mor,” Azriel rasped, pressing a hand against the wall beside her head and leaning in enough for her to feel his breath against her ear. “Who’s your new friend?"

She gasped as his other hand found the slit in her dress, the one that rose high up on her thigh. “I have no idea who you’re talking about,” she said. Azriel parted the fabric and slipped his hand underneath, feeling the smooth skin of her upper leg. As his callouses grazed higher to caress her side, Mor moaned, and his breathing hitched when he found only skin waiting for him.

“No lace under this dress tonight, I see,” Azriel grazed his lips against her neck as her head fell back against the wall. His hand roamed to her backside to confirm his suspicions. “For him?"

Mor grunted in frustration as Azriel stalled his hand on her leg and she ground her body into him, forging them closer and trying to get his hand to slip where she wanted it. “For you, Az,” she breathed. “Only for you. I want _you_ , Az. Please -"

He could not refuse her when she said that word. _Please_. He would not deny her what she wanted… he would simply give it to her as slowly as his patience would allow.

His teeth grazed just beneath her ear, a touch so light that he felt her shiver beneath him. The hand fisted in his shirt pulled harder and the one in his hair pressed his head down. In response, he began to move his hand slowly over her thigh as he peppered kisses down her neck, and then along her jaw, breathing in her scent of cinnamon and citrus as he went. Mor’s breathing hitched when he brought his face level with hers and teasingly kissed the corner of her mouth.

Mor, seemingly agitated with his slow pace, brought both hands to cup his face and crashed her lips into his.

The heat in the kiss chipped away at his patience, and as he slid his tongue into her mouth, he moved his hand to rest at the crease of her thigh. His fingers circled at the skin there and she squirmed beneath him, biting his lip in insistence that he continue. “Say it again,” he said against her mouth, his voice gravelly and more breathless than he had expected it to sound.

She knew what he meant. Knew what he needed to hear - both to hear her beg and also to confirm, to that deep part of him still swirling with his demons, that she was choosing this.

“I want you, Az."

He swallowed the declaration with a rough, passionate kiss, and his hand came up to cup her breast. A breathless noise escaped her as he moved his other hand over her center, allowing a finger to part her.

Mor was soaked for him already, but he wasn’t ready to give her full satisfaction just yet. He would make her buckle her knees and melt before him, would show her just how much he wanted her too, certainly. But not before getting revenge for her teasing.

“I saw how close you were pressed against him,” Azriel rasped as he pressed his forehead against hers, moving that one finger slowly. Mor leaned into him, anchoring herself to him, both hands fisting in his hair. “How you looked at him when you were dancing."

“Did it make you jealous?” she asked huskily, smiling as he rubbed a quick circle over her clit before running two fingers over her. Her eyes opened and locked on his, and the near black of her pupil-consumed irises set him ablaze. She sighed, a high-pitched noise that sent his head spinning. “Because that was the intention."

Azriel moved his fingers closer to her entrance and he could tell she was trying hard not to buck her hips forward. “Is that so?” he said, pressing his lips to her jaw again and sucking enough to leave a mark there. His other hand moved to her other breast, but this time dipping below the fabric of her dress to feel bare skin.

“ _Azriel_ ,” she moaned, and his patience ran thin at the sound of his name. He captured her lips with his as he pushed one finger into her, swallowing her gasp of pleasure with his tongue. Azriel waited no more than a few seconds before adding the second finger and started a rhythm, plunging them in and out of her.

Mor bit his lip gently, in somewhat of a trance of pleasure, and Azriel groaned at the feel of her against him, feeling good _because of him_. The sound unleashed her, however, and her hands simultaneously moved, one reaching for the bulge in his pants and the other raising up to graze the lower membrane of his wing.

“Fuck-“ he rasped, pressing against her. “You’re going to ruin _my_ fun, Mor."

Her lips formed a seductive smile against his lips, a breathless laugh leaving her. Azriel hooked his fingers inside her and rubbed his thumb over her clit, causing her to cry out.

She dropped her head to his shoulder, panting. “Azriel, I want you inside me,” she said, in that demanding, queenly voice. The one he couldn’t refuse. “I want you to fuck me, _now_."

“Not here,” he growled, increasing the pace of his fingers.

Mor brought her hands to his chest and grabbed his shirt, and in a moment they were moving through the abyss of space as she winnowed him out of that alley. Seconds later, they were in Azriel’s apartment on the outside of Velaris, the one he never, ever used, and Mor was falling back onto his bed, pulling him with her.

“Won’t your friend miss you?” Azriel rasped against her ear, his fingers still working her as she began to fumble with the buttons on his shirt. She only snarled in response, a dismissal of that trivial detail. A declaration that she wanted him to focus - on her. He would oblige.

Arching her back, Mor paused in her undressing of Azriel to bask in the pleasure he wrought from her as he began a steady pressure on her clit. “Come for me, Morrigan."

She did, and his entire being lit on fire and the sight of her eyelids fluttering, her mouth parting in ecstasy, her body trembling beneath him as she dug her nails into his shoulders and held tightly.

Mor was so beautiful. All the time, she was perfect, a blessing, a queen. But like this, _gods_ , like _this_ -

He would give her everything, surrender himself to her completely, forget about anything and everything other than the two of them, just to see her like this.

Wasting no time, Mor pounced on him the moment she came down from her high, grabbing for the zipper of his pants and springing the hard length of him free, at last. Azriel watched in awe as she shed her dress, that sapphire dress she so blatantly wore for him, and his blood heated to a boiling point. Azriel continued to stare as she sat before him, allowing him to bask in the view for a few moments. If he wasn’t mistaken, she was admiring him as well.

She eventually closed the distance between them, climbing into his lap in that incredibly captivating way she always did, and swung her legs around his hips so that she was facing him full on. Softly, Mor kissed him - an assurance of her desire, her want for him - but also a moment in their secret rendezvous that confused him. Her kisses often went from insistently hungry to this soft, passionate… _loving_ gesture, and it made Azriel’s heart soar and simultaneously broke it.

He knew, he was _certain_ that there was love between them. He felt it in every bone in his body, in every fiber of his being, in these kisses they shared. But it broke his heart that sometimes love wasn’t enough in this world - sometimes love didn’t win the war.

So he would make the most of these moments - the moments where love would win in tiny, secret battles.

Azriel wrapped his arms around her and pressed her softly against the mattress without breaking their kiss. He entered her slowly, the feeling of her around him consuming every thought. Her smile against his lips threatened to break him into a million pieces, and he began to move, matching the movement of her own hips.

Because he needed to see her, needed to catalog every inch of pleasure on her face and burn it into his memory until they could find a time for this again, he broke their kiss. Mor’s blonde hair fanned out around her, her lips were parted slightly, but her eyes - they bore into him, all black, endless pupil, all mischief and all desire. She brought one hand up to caress his wing again and he involuntarily closed his eyes at the contact, feeling closer than he had just moments before.

Mor continued her caresses as she brought their lips together again, their pace increasing steadily as Azriel felt her legs tighten around him. “So close, Azriel, _please_ -"

He brought a hand down to the jewel between her legs and after a few moments she began to shatter, scraping her nails against his wing in the process. Which caused him to immediately follow, and they soared through their high together.

In the afterward, Azriel always felt a surge of anxiety. Would she roll out of his bed, worried about being caught, and find her way back to her own bed? That would be her choice, he knew, and she had done so a few times before. She usually only left when he would be leaving for a mission the next morning - which he would be, he remembered with a jolt. She had made him forget about his ever-failing attempts to infiltrate the Queens’ castle in the human realms, about his ongoing frustration with their shields.

Well, he supposed, that was exactly what he needed.

Tonight, though - tonight, he couldn’t stand the possibility that she would leave. That she may have regrets, that she may never come back-

But Mor curled into him, holding tight as if she never wanted to let go. Azriel wrapped tentative arms around her, and relaxed as she nuzzled closer to him, smiling into his chest.

“I know you have to leave early,” she whispered against him as he rubbed circles slow over her back.

Azriel waited for her to finish speaking for a few quiet moments, but she remained silent. Pressing his mouth into the top of her head, he murmured, “Stay."

Her only response was a contented, “Mmmhm,” and Azriel knew it would be particularly difficult to get himself out of bed the next morning, knew it would be a risk to their secrecy for her to come back so early to the House of Wind, wondered if Cassian be awake early enough to notice if he flew her up so she wouldn’t have to take the steps.

But his worries, like his shadows, faded with the even sound of her breathing as she fell asleep against him, her heartbeat steady even as his continued to race. The risk, he thought, was worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> name of the work is the title of a beyonce song because why not


End file.
